L'Academie de Moulin Rouge
by Sabrina Levelle
Summary: Nicole Spartan is suddenly whisked from her own time and landed in a fanfiction university in Montmartre. Based on Camilla Sandman's university fics.
1. The Hole in the Ceiling

Nicole yawned and put her fingers back on her keyboard. The inviting blankness of the screen seemed to call her name. Gently she stroked the keys, the little black cursor blinking with opportunity. Slowly she reached her left index finger up to type a "t" . . .

A crash and a bang from above made her jump from her chair and back away as timbers and dust fell from the hole in her ceiling that Nicole swore hadn't been there before.

"What the . . .?" she exclaimed, watching the tall thin man in a black top hat and tails stand up out of the debris. He brushed himself off, replaced his hat, and reached into his pocket.

"Madmoiselle Nicole Morgan?" he asked. She nodded slowly, openmouthed, and the tall man reached into his pocket and pulled out a crisp manilla envelope. "This is for you," he said, the right corner of his lips curling upwards a bit. Nicole raised an eyebrow dubiously and took the envelope from him.

It was addressed to her in loopy script, with a return address of "L'Academie de Moulin Rouge." She choked back a laugh, then glanced back up at the man who delivered it. But he was gone. So was the hole in her ceiling.

Shrugging, and convinced that she was hallucinating, or dreaming, Nicole turned back to her envelope. She turned it over, and slid her finger under the flap. The papers inside were neatly folded, and looked to be pressed on an old printing press. They had a place for her name, her age, and her basic physical appearance, but also had strange questions like, "Have you ever sung 'Sparkling Diamonds' in the shower?" and "If given the opportunity, would you skinny-dip with Christian?" Chuckling to herself, Nicole took out a pen and answered the ridiculous questionnaire.

Done, she folded the papers, placed them back in the envelope, then climbed into bed to read a magazine, and perhaps fall asleep.

* * * *

An enormous yawn seized hold of her as she woke, stretching and rolling over to glance at the clock. Much to her dismay, instead of rolling to the other side of her bed, Nicole rolled cleanly off and fell quite a few feet to the ground. Amused snickers filled the room.

Confused, and both annoyed and angry at the laughter, Nicole pushed herself up on her hands and tossed her hair back out of her eyes. To her dismay, she was no longer in her own bedroom, but rather in a sleeping compartment of a moving train. Everything was either mahogany or red velvet, and there were antique light fixtures on the walls. Adding insult to injury, there were also five other things in the room that were, at first glance, more than merely decorative.

"Nice fall, there, Grace," said a blonde perched on the top bunk opposite Nicole.

"It's Nicole, actually," she replied, getting to her feet. "And thank you."

A chocolate-haired, dumpy sort of girl sitting in the doorframe glared at the girl who had called Nicole the wrong name. "You leave her be, Sandy!" she exclaimed in a high-pitched Texan accent. "You didn't do no better when _you_ woke up, if I remember rightly."

Nicole smiled at the little girl by the door, who smiled back.

"Davey," said the Texan, "Davey O'Donnell McLean. You can call me Davey, Dave, Donnell, or Dom. It's your pick." She held out a hand.

"Nicole Spartan." The girls shook hands. "So can anybody tell me just where in the name of all that is fanfic we are?"

"They came over the P.A. a few minutes ago," answered a redhead Nicole would later know as Regence Standing, "Apparently they'll tell us when we get to . . . wherever we're going."

Nicole sighed, and pinched her forearm between two fingernails. Ow. Yup, she was awake.

"As long as we're here, we may as well get to know each other," said Regence. "So it's Regence - that's me - Sandy, Davey, Helena, Jacquelynn, and Nicole. There, now we know people."

There were hellos all around, and the girls began to engage in random conversation. It didn't take them long to realize that they were all fans of Moulin Rouge, and that they had all received a mysterious visit the night before.

A while later, the train slowed and came to a stop. A voice came over the P.A.

"All right. Everybody up and off. This isn't Hogwarts, so take all your bags with you. Once off the train, you'll meet in the following groups with your Academie co-ordinator."

The voice then proceeded to read off a list of names that would go in each group. Nicole was in a group with Davey and Helena (named for the goddess, she kept mentioning), and together they gathered their bags and disembarked.

They stepped off the train steps and onto a platform, gazing in awe at the sights around them. People scurried everywhere, speaking in a mixture of languages, but predominantly French, and the signs were written in French first. Obviously, they were in, well, France.

"Oh wow," were the only words that came to Nicole's mind.

"_A_men," breathed Davey. Helena could only nod.

"Are you three in _Groupe Jaune_?" asked a rather surly-looking woman near them. The girls nodded. "Then you're with me. Come on. There shouldn't be many more."

She was right. A few moments later, two more lost-looking teenage girls came wandering over. One looked right at the woman and began to speak in rapid French.

"No good," answered the woman, "You'll have to wait until we're at the Academie. Okay, everyone follow me! Off we go."

They made a beeline for an old-fashioned horsedrawn carriage, in which they all piled. Surprisingly, it was large enough to accomodate all of them and their things.

"You're going to L'Academie de Moulin Rouge," said the woman, "I'm Mistress Meggs, and I'm your group's co-ordinator. There are thirteen other groups besides yours, and each has their own co-ordinator. We're like your camp counselors. But don't be fooled - this will be _nothing_ like camp. Unless, of course, you go to bootcamp. Above us is Madame Belle, but again, don't think anything by her name. I'm not allowed to say anything more, but I suppose that's all you need to know.

"You'll be here with us for quite a while. But no time will pass in your world while you are here. There are several courses that are recquired, and a few that are optional. You'll find out more later. Well, this is it."

The girls looked away from their co-ordinator and peered out of the windows. The streets were narrow, and lined with bars, clubs, and shops. Tourists, mainly, and a few residents walked the avenue. Suddenly, they passed under an archway, and all five teens gasped as they recognized what was coming up ahead.

A wooden windmill, spinning lazily in the early morning sun. Below were the words "Moulin Rouge."

"I'll be buggered," whispered one of the two strange girls, obviously British.

"_A_men," seconded Davey.


	2. Finding Out What You're Made Of

                The carriage stopped just inside the courtyard.  Mistress Meggs opened the door and climbed out.

                "Here is where we stop.  Everybody out."

                Nicole grabbed her suitcase and squeezed out of the door behind Helena and in front of Davey.  Once they had all disembarked, Mistress Meggs arranged them all into a line.

                "Don't get lost," she said simply, before leading them forward toward the main performance hall of the Moulin Rouge.

                All around her Nicole could hear the awed whispers of her fellow students.  The courtyard and buildings around it looked just like the movie, from the Gothic Tower to the very elephant where Satine and Christian had fallen in love.  It took her a while to realize that they must have gone back in time as well as to France, as the sounds of modern city were no longer present.  Nicole's ears rang with the emptiness left by a lack of ambient noise.  It was while she was staring up at the dome of the elephant when she crashed into Sandy's back.

                "Watch it!" she hissed.  All of the students had stopped directly in front of the main hall, where the group leaders left them and began to make their way up the steps.

                "What's going on?" asked Davey.  Nicole shrugged.

                Another moment passed before a sudden hush fell instantly over the gathered students.  To Nicole, it seemed that the sky darkened, and the temperature in the courtyard dropped ten degrees or so.  It was soon apparent why this change came over the environment.

                Her cancan heels fell heavily on the polished marble of the platform outside of the entrance.  She walked with a certain swagger, as if she was trying to cause her skirt to make as much noise as possible.  Every swish of the taffeta and satin fabric seemed cold and menacing, and the dark purple color did nothing to detract from the feeling.  Her black corset top and peasant sleeves made her seem like a villainous gypsy and the long red fingernails came to near points on the ends of her fingers.  But nothing sent shivers down Nicole's spine like the cold, hard look in her steely eyes, framed with a set of harsh brown curls piled almost recklessly on the back of her head.

                She reached the edge of the stairs and stopped.  For a moment the entire world stood still.  Then, after scanning the crowd gathered before her, she began to speak.

                "Greetings," she said, her voice low but somehow reaching the ears of every student.  Nicole was not surprised when it came out smooth, and nearly inviting.  The cold in her eyes apparently inhabited her voice as well, as Nicole and several students near her shivered.  "I am Madame Belle, headmistress of this establishment.  You are gathered here for a brief introduction before you will be shown to your dormitories.  Within the introduction, I will be going over some very important rules.  If you follow these rules, your stay here will be . . . much less unpleasant.  If you choose to break these rules, you will suffer the consequences.

                "First of all, I would like to introduce to you the staff.  If you value your life, you will refrain from lusting through the duration of this meeting and, in fact, your stay here.  First, teaching Why I'm Not a Romance Writer in the first semester, is Master Christian."

                There was a wave of swooning that passed over the school.  It took all Nicole's strength just to stay on her feet.  The only non-swooning students were those who lusted after the Argentinean.  As he took the stage, Nicole's brain melted.  He was so . . . perfect.  His hair fell just perfectly into his face, and his expression was so wonderfully shy and sweet at the same time.  He was just like she imagined him . . .

                "Nicole, you're drooling," hissed Davey from behind her.  Nicole wiped it away in what she hoped was a discreet moment, then turned her attention back to Madame Belle.

                "Next, teaching both Romantic Moments 101 and Discretionary Writing Skills, Ma'amselle Satine."

                She was more beautiful in person than onscreen, Nicole noted, watching her gracefully saunter to take her place beside Christian.  Oh, how she hated her.

                "Our tango-dancing instructor," continued Madame Belle, "the Argentinean, hereafter known as 'Frank.'"

                The Argentinean's fangirls all swooned in proper lusting manner, while 'Frank' took a gracious, and rather nervous, bow.

                "And our final two senior staff members, Monsieur Toulouse-Lautrec, and Ma'amselle Nini."

                Nini, in person, looked nearly sinister enough to counter Madame Belle, but not quite.  Toulouse looked rather peaked; Nicole suspected he had been partying the night before.

                "These will be your instructors and your overseers while you are here," Madame Belle said, "You will obey them and you will respect them.  There will be _no lusting whatsoever tolerated.  If you are caught, you will suffer dire consequences.  You will observe the 'lights out' times.  If called upon by any senior staff member to do a task outside of your typical duties, you will respond without question.  All classes must be attended unless you are in the hospital wing.  Then you are responsible for getting in the work that you missed.  Any and all questions about procedure will be directed to me.  It I find it worthy of my time, I might just answer it.  Otherwise, you're on your own.  Your group leaders are there for you if you need something, but I seriously doubt they will be able to help you.  Discipline will be dealt out by any staff members who see fit.  The staff wing is off limits.  There will be no switching of dormitories, and no moving about in the halls after lights out.  These rules are subject to change, amendment, and addition throughout the term._

                "The purpose of this academy is to educate you in writing fan fiction in the world of 'Moulin Rouge.'  It is a world plagued by Mary Sues, bad characterization, and trite plotlines, all contrived, and all cliché.  It is our job to make sure we can release you into the real world and let you write with full confidence you will not commit the atrocities your fellow fanmates will as they come after you.  Therefore, this is not just an academic school, but rather a test.  This school is mostly about finding out what you're made of.  And don't think we won't try our best to defeat you.  The best of the best will graduate at the end of the term, and only the best of the best.  Make sure you're one of them.

                "I now release you to your dormitories."

                With that she turned and clicked her way back into the hall, followed quickly by the senior staff members.  Another moment passed before anyone said anything.  Then there were calls for different groups coming from the group leaders at the top of the stairs.

                "_Pourpre and __Vert, this way!"_

"_Rose, _Brun_, __Argent, __Gris, and _Blanc_!"_

"_Groupes Jaune, Bleu, and _Rouge_ follow me!"_

"That's us," said Helena, in the front.  The girls grouped together and tried to make their way toward the voice calling their group name.  Finally, they found the person to whom it belonged: a young girl who looked to be about the same age as the students.  They were soon joined by the other two groups, all girls, and all looking very scared and very confused.

"I'm Jenny, and I'm your dormitory advisor," said the girl who had called them as she led them past the performance hall and over to a small door in the wall adjacent.  "I outrank your group leader.  Take a look around at those with you.  These will be the girls you share your dormitory with."

Jenny opened the door and led them up what seemed like ten flights of stairs.  Once they reached the floor they were climbing to, Jenny opened yet another door and led them down a long, narrow hallway.  Nicole was amazed at the decoration, with beautiful, scalloped sconces on the walls and rich wood paneling on the walls.  Each door was made of what looked like oak with a small plaque inscribed with a number on each.  The wallpaper was different shades of red, fitting in quite nicely with the Moulin Rouge theme.

"You will be rooming here, in this hall, for the duration of your stay, however long that may be.  This is a cancan dancer building; therefore you are with actual Moulin Rouge employees.  Please do not disturb them.  You will find a map of the school in your rooms, along with a copy of your schedule.  Use this to find your classes tomorrow.  Tardiness is not tolerated.

"Your rooms," she continued.  "You have one roommate, which has already been assigned.  You each have one key to your room.  If you lose it, you'll be bunking in the Dorm of Demotion.  And trust me; you do _not_ want to bunk there."

She then handed out keys.  Nicole and Davey were roommates, in room 8E.  Once inside, Nicole claimed the bed nearest the door while Davey began to unpack her trunk.  Nicole collapsed on her bed.

"I still don't believe this," she said.  "I can't believe this."

"We'll be lucky to survive," answered Davey.  "Madame Belle is terrifying."

Nicole snorted.  "I could take her," she said.  Davey shut the drawer in the armoire she was stocking.

"Don't get too cocky," said Davey, "I have a bad feeling about Madame Belle."

Nicole didn't say anything.  This was all . . . confusing.  One minute it was incredibly cool, the next she wanted to laugh at it all.  She lay back and closed her eyes.  Maybe this would be kinda cool.  Maybe it would be fun.  Maybe it would all make sense if she took a nap . . .

_Author's Note:  It's all Camilla Sandman.  She did the original University, and was kind enough to let me borrow the premise for this.  Oh, by the way, for those who wanted to know, I've put an application form in the reviews, so fill it out and email it to me at belle_rougette@hotmail.com.  And don't forget to review!_


End file.
